


Watson's leisurely stroll

by jozbee



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Gen, Holme's mannerisms, Observations, Watson's character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-30 10:49:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15095138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jozbee/pseuds/jozbee
Summary: While Watson wandered alongside the famed Sherlock Holmes, a fervor of analysis ensued.





	Watson's leisurely stroll

**Author's Note:**

> This is a vignette based on a scene from Conan Doyle's "The Red Headed League." I thought that Watson's passive, and somewhat entertained, perspective of Sherlock Holmes is misconceived. I think that Watson writes these stories to reconcile his significance in comparison to the other familiar genius.

With the clouds endlessly rolling over the horizon on another gloomy day in London, we casually strolled into a block from which I was not accustomed. The boundless and winding roads of London may confound the uninitiated, where blind monotony overwhelms the senses, but Holmes- the man with a crystal palace so deeply engraved with wondrous fantasies that extend beyond any reasonable intuition- might as well have been the manager of a large collection of detached, biological machines, which now led me idly on. I subsequently assumed a similar set of mannerisms, unaware of any obligations my social contract might entail, and as happened to be a pastime of mine, I remained fascinated by the smog enveloping the city in a blanket, absorbing what little light did penetrate the thick grey clouds ready for a heavy downpour of acid spurred on by recent human advancements. Pointing out technological strides was not uncommon in the press, but while universal betterment remained on the tip of every literate soul’s tongue, I could not help my subconscious unraveling the deep wealth disparity that could be demarcated so starkly. Take, for example, the humble shop engulfed in a swarm of the local proletariat whose present concerns were dwarfed by the stately bank with riches only separated by a few yards from the rundown pawn shop…

And then we were there, in front of the small shop presented in my thought, taking on a very real form. However, instead of slowly waking up from the dream like trance previously occupying my bodily self, Sherlock- in his infinite wisdom- snatched a half broken walking stick to repeatedly hit it against the already burdened road, which startled me more than if a gunshot would have sounded in these crime ridden streets. Dazed as I was, Sherlock and I were quickly ushered to the humble dwelling of my dream by some external force where Sherlock then attacked the abused door with a passion only a serial killer could muster. I could not blame the poor wretch who stomped up the stairs in the re-purposed house to frighten any potential intruder; so when the stranger pulled opened the creaking door that was shabbily attached to its hinges, I could understand his odd exhibition of ridding the house’s welcoming mat of the intruding guests who steal time from a man longing to return to his previous work. Sherlock and I were banished with grace, but not before Sherlock could ask directions to some obscure part of town. I was baffled by this display from my companion, and when I further pressed him for reasons, I was in turn only referenced to the other man’s knees.

His knees! His KNEES!! I have the ability to relegate my passion to the locked box hidden deep inside my psyche not to be let out before my death, but this straw almost broke my back. A memory from my childhood was quickly risen from the dead, a line of reasoning chiseled into my head by my traditional progenitors. They explained that evil exists in the world to make the good meaningful, and this made myself a tool in Sherlock’s bountiful collection. I am no man of unassuming intellect, but even so, while Sherlock would otherwise wallow away solving the impossible puzzles he sought after, I entered his life to give contrast… to give meaning. There were likely hundreds of unsolved cases in this city alone that no other man could solve, yet the infalible Holmes wanted to investigate a practical joke with me at his side. For what other reason than to humiliate myself and boost his self esteem! But then I thought myself being too passionate for my station, so I shoved any lingering feelings into the infamous box, and I proceeded.


End file.
